Page 31 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The voice started after the rift hit me—so faint I convinced myself it was only a dream. It lingered at the edges of sleep, slipping away the moment morning came. Now it doesn’t fade. It spoke the moment I finished reading the tattered scroll. The timing is too precise to dismiss. It feels as if the magic woven into those worn lines recognized something in me . . . and dragged this voice to the surface of my mind.

The mysterious riddle lady cuts in, her voice resonating through my thoughts. “Relaying the message is your choice, land-dweller. All truths will be revealed in due time. Trust one another, and all will be clear.”

That’s not ominous at all. Is she referencing Orion and me? Or speaking about the magic within? Or both? It is times like this when I wish I could take some Advil.

“I don’t have any experience with prophecies,” I mutter, eyes still downcast, focusing on the words before me, “but I’m pretty positive this isn’t one. It feels more like a confession . . . or a warning.”

There’s hesitation in my voice because I’m not entirely sure this message is even meant to be shared aloud. I turn slowly, facing Orion. And his . . . chiseled chest.

Freaking gargantuan ass. Great. Focus, Sarah.

I drag my gaze upward, slowly, and find his eyes. They’re dark blue now, with a faint violet ring at the edges. Almost like a storm waiting to break. He doesn’t move or speak. He just watches me with the kind of stillness that makes the world feel quieter. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s some tension in the way his jaw ticks. His hair shifts gently in the current, the ends curling ever so slightly, catching the dim glow of the room we’re in.

There’s something unsettling about how calm he seems. Leo's is the same way in moments of chaos. On days when paperwork piled high and deadlines closed in, he'd swoop in without hesitation, before I could drown beneath it all. He never expected gratitude. Never made me feel guilty for needing help. He simply carried the weight until I could breathe again. He always made the endless meetings with investors feel manageable, somehow turning impossible situations into problems with solutions. The truest partner someone like me could have asked for.

If Leo were here right now, he'd panic first. He'd have a dozen questions about Velmira, and at least one very colorful comment about how Orion managed to become so unbelievably massive. But, once the shock wore off, he'd think it through. He always did. And somehow, he'd know exactly what to do.

“Alright. Here’s the deal. I’ll relay the message.” I lift my chin. “But I have questions.”

“Anything, Snapdragon,” Orion’s voice is steady, but his eyes reflect something else. Something desperate. As if he wants me to trust him. “I will share whatever you want to know.”

“Since the day this all happened to me,” I reveal slowly, “there’s been a voice—a man’s voice. At first, it only came to me in dreams. But . . .” I glance over my shoulder at the scroll, still open like some ancient wound. “It speaks to me even now.”

“A man’s voice?” Orion echoes, his expression tightening. “Velmira, what does this mean?”

I glance between the two of them. I thought Orion would have all the answers, but he looks as confused as I feel. Velmira tilts her head ever so slightly, her white eyes catching a glint of unseen magic.

“Magic speaks when young,” she says, her voice lilting like a song. “Tidelets will accept the magic within, becoming a part of them, at a young age.”

I blink at her, completely thrown. Tidelets?

Orion sees the confusion on my face and steps in. “It is how we refer to young ones—those still growing, still being shaped by the tides. Similar to how land-dwellers speak of children or youth.” His voice is soft, careful, like he’s trying not to overwhelm me. “Those who are gifted with magic usually do so early. But I have never heard of someone hearing a voice with theirs. But Virellan has few magic wielders as is, so is it safe to assume it could be a possibility?”

He angles his head toward Velmira without shifting the rest of his body.

Velmira speaks again, this time clearer. “Magic answers at its own free will. It can be unpredictable. No one will ever fully understand its reasons for choosing the ones it does.”

“So you’re basically saying,” I state, processing it all out loud, “the magic chose me for a reason?”

Velmira doesn’t answer.

I look back at Orion. “And it’s speaking to me now, outside of my dreams, because I know it chose me?”

“What exactly is it relaying to you?”

I stare at him, mouth open, ready to speak. But no words reach my lips.

I want to tell Orion who I think the voice belongs to. Tell him about the dream I had right before he broke into my home when we first met. But what would I even say? That the voice I'm hearing isn't the magic itself—that I think it's his father? Like some part of his essence has been woven into the magic somehow? No, I can't. I refuse to subject myself to the craziness already taking over my life.

Orion’s eyes linger on me, searching, as if he’s trying to understand what I’m not saying. Then he shifts the conversation. “Do you think the scroll’s message can help us?”

He wants answers as badly as I do. I can hear it in his voice. Each word is clipped. There’s a certainty in the way he talks, like he’s already decided the scroll holds something crucial. Like he needs it to.

I hesitate, shifting under the weight of what I’ve read. “It speaks of someone’s past—their youth. But it doesn’t reveal exactly what happened. I’m sorry.”

Why did I say that? Dammit, Sarah. Are you seriously feeling sorry for him now?

“What else did it reveal?” he asks, his voice sharper now. The worry he shows is undeniable.